This past weekend my sister’s “daughter’ (once married to her step son - still a daughter to my sister) asked my sister to help her put up hay bales. All that was required was driving the truck. A request with a dangerous lack of knowledge and history regarding my sister.
Our father would bale our hay and then leave it for me to haul to the barn. This was my welcome home after a summer away working hay for my great uncles. Our equipment was a flat bed Ford pickup. I would put the truck into the “granny” gear and let it roll along the line of bales, loading as we traveled. As necessary, adjust the track. Starting at about age seven, my sister would steer. Little shit would slide down until her foot was on the gas and then ever so slowly speed up. I would start at a brisk walk, then a trot, and then would be running. Then yelling. Fifteen minutes later it would all start again.
As she grew and could reach the pedals easily, she lobbied (cried, pouted, etc. as girls are born knowing how to do) to drive to the barn. The close fields were ok but the far field had a big dip between the fields. Giving in, I let her drive across the dip where she “goosed it” and half the load fell off. I do believe she exited the truck and took off at a run for the house.
My sister was a true ranch girl. Stack hay, drive equipment, break and train horses, then put on a dress and be drop dead gorgeous.
As a young man dating ranch girls, one learned to be careful with your hands. Most had a strong enough grip to crush bones.
